


JACK DIES AT THE END

by novakid



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 12:56:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13613829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novakid/pseuds/novakid
Summary: Jack Lawrence, valedictorian, star athlete, and scholar in business and technology, is found dead in their small town of [undisclosed]. Rhys Caelyn, infatuated and obsessed, is trying to find out how he died vis a vis his twin brother, Timothy Lawrence. Rhys is a bad person. But at least he’s in similar company.





	JACK DIES AT THE END

“Hey! Hey. You got my email.”

“Oh, I- uh, I think you’ve-”

Rhys didn’t let Timothy finish. He continued, “I wasn’t sure if you were able to make it. I mean, you never answered me. I hope I wasn’t being rude or anything. Were you ordering?”

They were both standing at the front counter of a coffee shop. The sort Rhys would normally avoid. Not with all that dirt in the cracks of those faded tiles. Or the smell of the old bricks. Timothy looked as if he was counting seconds in his head before Rhys realized he had the wrong person and left him be. “Uh, I. I’m waiting for my order- Sorry I…” He swallowed nervously. Rhys waited, patient. “I think you’ve got the wrong person? I never- I didn’t get an email and… I don’t think we’ve ever met, either. Have we?”

Rhys waited a beat, letting the barista hand Timothy his pumpkin spice latte (oh, adorable) before speaking again. “That explains that. Ahaha, I’m really glad I caught you here, then. I would have hated to be stood up.” He winked and moved with Tim, away from the counter. “Sit with me?”

The poor guy looked as if he got called to the principal's office for the first time, eyes bugged out behind his thick glasses and everything. But he followed behind anyway, sitting at a small table across from Rhys.

“You don’t know me. I mean, I’d be surprised if you did. My name’s Rhys.” He decided to wait a few seconds. To see if Timothy actually knew him or not. He shook his head and gave a sheepish grin. Forced?  “I use to attend study groups with your brother.” The grin fades. “And I wanted to know how you were doing.” He looked confused, now.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Rhys leaned forward in his seat and spoke in a hush. “I don’t want to press. You don’t have to tell me anything. I just. I know you two were close. I’ve never seen you spend time with anyone else- Am I being presumptuous? Sorry, I just.” He let out a sigh. Recollected his thoughts. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay? And that you… don’t have to be alone. If you’re alone- again, I’m assuming things but. I just see you on campus and-”

Timothy had long stopped looking at Rhys. Biting his fingers. That was a cue for Rhys to tone it down.

“What I’m saying is.” He started. “You look like you could use a friend right now.”

* * *

There were three things to know if one wanted to start to understand what happened to Rhys Caelyn in the small town of [undisclosed].

The first: Jack Lawrence was the golden star in school. The head honcho of the town. He was charismatic; everyone knew his name. Smart. Very smart. Valedictorian smart. Rhys remembered being at his graduation ceremony, despite being three years his junior. Jack majored in business and technology, if memory served Rhys right. The kind of guy girls wanted to be with, the kind of guy other guys wanted to be.

The second: Jack Lawrence was the first man Rhys fell in love with when he realized he was gay. He was, without a doubt, drop dead handsome. He was too young to ever penetrate Jack’s inner circle. But what he lacked in age, he made up for in passion. Rhys was at every football game, every debate tourney, and study room Jack was in. They never spoke a word to each other, but Rhys was there. Eavesdropping and admiring from afar. It became harder when Jack went to college, but in due time, Rhys would follow him there too, following suit in his business major. (And indulging in a robotics program, of course.) Rhys promised himself one thing. Now that he was an adult just like Jack, he would make his move and try to get close to him his first semester at [undisclosed] University.

The third: Jack Lawrence was very, very dead.

He died the summer right before Rhys’ first college semester started. (Rhys remembered the tantrum he threw that night he found out). Everyone knew about it. No one knew what happened. The police would not release any information on the matter. It was the family’s decision.

Jack’s parents and grandmother were long gone, dead or what have you. Timothy Lawrence, Jack’s twin brother, was the last one left.

Rhys knew he had to get to the bottom of this, no matter what the cost.

He was not a good person. But he was a good actor.

The next outing he had with Timothy was one the two had actually planned. A walk in a park. Sort of cheesy, but the autumn leaves are absolutely delectable. Perfect for the atmosphere.

“I really, truly appreciate all of this, Rhys. Just. Walking and talking.” Timothy was wearing the same jacket he wore last time, Rhys noticed. In fact, he can’t remember an instance where Tim wasn’t wearing that ratty jacket. A brightly coloured windbreaker from the 1980’s. The same jacket Tim constantly wore in high school. Rhys, hyper-observant, did not remember a moment Tim wasn’t wearing it. Rhys wished he could say it was charming, but... “But I’m not really. I don’t want to talk about Jack.”

Rhys offered a smile after snapping out of his line of thought. “No, no of course. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or bring up any sorrow or grief…”

Tim shook his head and sighed. He opened his mouth as if to say something before promptly shutting it. Such a lack in confidence, Rhys thought to himself. How was this even Jack’s brother?

As they continued to walk together, Rhys couldn’t help but notice more quirks and ticks about Tim that differed from his twin. It was almost all he could really think about. For example, Tim (much like Rhys) was left handed as opposed to Jack who was right handed. He covered his mouth when he laughed instead of Jack’s loud, hearty laughter. He walked with a hunch. Bit his nails. Fidgeted and stammered under Rhys’ gaze. Tim obviously wasn’t use to all the attention. The more Rhys noticed, the more some ugly and twisted creature thrashed in the pit of his stomach.

He missed Jack. Tim was hardly a substitute.

But he couldn’t leave any loose ends untied. He had to find out what happened to his first love.

He needed to get closer.

Rhys willed himself onto Tim like a hurricane, who became less and less reluctant every time Rhys insisted they spend an afternoon after classes together. By the end of september, they were seeing each other nearly every day.

“Can I ask you a sort of.” Tim paused, tilting his head one way and the other. “A personal question. I don’t want to be rude, I just-”

Rhys looked up from his classwork. They were in Rhys’ apartment working on assignments side by side. In his room. Together, on his bed. Tim sure looked comfortable, but Rhys would have prefered if he had taken off that nasty jacket in case the  _ tackiness _  spread throughout his living quarters. “I don’t know, can you?”

Tim bit his lip (okay, a little cute) and tried to muffle a laugh. “May I ask you a question?”

Rhys smiled back and pushed a stray strand of hair from his face. “You may. Not sure if I’ll answer, though.”

He inhaled a slow breath from his nose and nodded before rolling on his side to face Rhys better. “How did you lose your arm?”

Both of their gazes drifted down to Rhys’ right arm. A cybernetic prosthetic. A sleek design with soft glowing lights. Not too realistic, but not usually noticeable unless one were to look right at it. Pricey, but not too pricey for his parent’s favourite son.

“You don’t have to-”

“No, no. It’s fine.” Slowly, Rhys sat up straight and pulled up his sleeve, showing Timothy the whole prosthetic. From the tip of his fingers to his shoulder. “I had an accident, is all. Of the violent and traumatic variety. We lived in California for awhile and… Well, we weren’t prepared for the earthquakes.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be.” Rhys smiled and scooted even closer to Tim. Any closer, he would end up on his lap. “It’s cool. I actually prefer it sometimes. The parents paid a pretty penny for it. They felt so guilty over it, like it was there fault.” It was. “Sometimes I still feel pains from the accident. Phantom limb syndrome, I think it’s called?”

“Phantom limb syndrome.” He murmured, as if trying it on his tongue for the first time. “A ghost arm.”

Rhys nodded. “A ghost arm, sure.”

Now, the two were close enough to feel the warmth of each other’s breath. Tim licked his (grossly chapped) lips. “What were your parents like?”

“Were?”

Tim winced. “Are.”

Interesting. “Distant. They worked a lot. Fought a lot. They adored me though. I was their baby boy. Being a genius helped too, I suppose. My older brother despised me for it. Maybe he was bitter because they hated each other and yelled all the time… They were on the brink of divorce.” Rhys looked away, letting his eyes trace the patterns in the wallpaper. “The accident with my arm made them forget about that. My brother hated me for it. Well, more than he already did.”

Finally, he looked up at Tim again, who looked guilty for bringing up the topic. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s fine, Tim. Really. What about you, Lawrence? What… were,” Rhys tilted his head and looked at Tim, waiting for him to correct him. He didn’t. “What were your parents like?”

Tim chewed on his lip as he collected his thoughts. For a moment, Rhys felt disappointment; Maybe Tim was still cagey and probably didn’t want to talk about family after all this time. Maybe they were going to fast. Maybe Rhys had planned wrong, maybe he messed everything up-

He was obviously overthinking it, because Tim did begin to answer. “Well. Our mom was. She wasn’t neglectful, but wasn’t always responsible. Or… you know. Present. Dinners consisted of instant noodles a few hours late. Gramma was strict. Mean. Sort of awful. Dad was okay, but he. Well, you know. Died.”

Rhys mouthed a soft apology and Tim shrugged. “About two years after that, mom had spent all of his money and she left us with Gramma. Which was... horrible. Needless to say, we got the hell out of there the month we turned eighteen.”

“We,” Rhys started. “Meaning you and Jack.”

A hush fell between them. Before finally, weakly, Tim said “Yeah. Me and Jack.”

Rhys’ mouth felt dry. He felt so close to his goal, but he would never get anywhere if he just grabbed what he wanted at something so skittish. Instead of asking more, “That’s awful. I’m so glad you’re away from all that. And I’m sorry for everything you have to… deal with now.” He places a gentle, flesh hand on Timothy’s knee. The smudges on his glasses clouded Tim’s mismatched eyes. Bugging out in that way they do. ( _ Cute. _ )

“I get by.” Rhys didn’t think Tim’s voice could get softer, what with how soft spoken he normally was, but he continued to pleasantly surprise him. “I mean… It’s been better with you here. So.” He shyly looked down at his papers, long discarded. “Thank you for that. Really.”

“Hey.” Rhys put on his soft smile. Warm and welcoming. He reached up and took Timothy by the jaw and pulled his gaze back on him. They looked at each other for a moment before he whispered, “It’s okay, Tim. You’re okay.”

Tim licked his lips again before parting them slightly.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

They made out for a half hour before Tim went home.

* * *

“We haven’t been able to hang out as much as we use to. I know you’re plenty busy with school and everything and… Whatever else you’re doing, but Yvette’s birthday is soon, so…”

“I know, I know. And I’m sorry.” Rhys said as he shrugged a coat on, head tilted to hold his cellphone between his ear and shoulder. “I already talked to Yvette about it. She says it’s fine. And I did get her a present! A really big one. With  _ components _  and everything!”

“Components, huh…”

“Yes, Vaughn. Components.” He sighed and ran a hand through his playfully messy, but not too messy, hair. “Listen, when a free weekend pops up, I promise that you’ll be the first to know.”

Vaughn sighed softly through the phone. Exasperated. “Alright. Alright, yeah. Okay.”

“Hey bro, come on. I’m tryyyyying.” Rhys stretched out his sentence and put a bit of sing song at the end of it. “And I miss you. Lots.”

Another, more dramatic, sigh. “You know,  _ my _  birthday gift better be twice the size of Yvette’s.”

Rhys grinned as he slipped his boots on. “Yeah. And then some. I’ll talk to you later, bro. I’ve got to head out.”

“I’ll see you Rhys. Be safe.”

“You too.”

He’d be the second to admit it- Rhys was sort of neglecting his best friends. And by sort of, he would mean  _ he hasn’t seen them at all since he started hanging out with Tim _ . It couldn’t be helped. With all his work and his program, he only ever had time for Tim. Time to plan for what might have been a selfish purpose? Maybe. But plans nonetheless.

That day’s plan involved spending the afternoon at Tim’s house for the first time. It was a big step, and Rhys was not about to waste it.

The place was small and old. The wallpaper had some tacky floral pattern that made Rhys miss the ugly neon colours that Timothy usually wore. It gave off the impression of what Rhys could only assume was a house that the twins inherited from their dead grandmother. It had that granny smell (cigarettes and oatmeal), covered up by car fresheners strung like Christmas lights. It was endearing, if a bit dingy and slightly gross.

But Rhys didn’t complain. He smiled when Tim opened the door for him and kissed him sweetly and let him pull him into the house for more kisses.

Tim made dinner. They ate while catching up. Not that they needed to catch up; it wasn’t long since they last saw each other. Rhys mostly used it as a way to flirt and tease Tim about how much he must have missed having him around. (To which Tim would reply with a shy  _ ‘maybe’ _ .)

“My room is at the very end on the right side.” Tim said while cleaning the dishes he insisted on doing by himself. “Just make yourself comfortable. The bathroom is closest to the kitchen if you need that.”

Rhys smiled and nodded and went into the hall where all the bedroom doors were. The bathroom was open. The room across from that had soft decorations on it. His grandmother’s room? To the end right, he saw Tim’s open door.

And then the door across from that. Dark wood and duct tape. Duct Tape covering a hole, no doubt. Rhys ran his tongue over his front teeth as he thought. Jack’s room. It had to be. Rhys still heard the clinking of dishes. He went in Jack’s room.

Two things: The room was dark. The windows were boarded up and the walls were painted a dark colour yellow. Rhys flipped the lights. Mustard. Gross. The room was also a mess. Rhys hadn’t expected it to be this messy. Dusty. And there were clothes along the floor and the bed. Papers and books and scrap metal in the corners, on the desks. Just a lot of junk. Maybe Jack was a hoarder, he thought. None of this could be a part of a collection. Antique soda bottles next to baseball player bobble heads? Rhys checked the dresser and mindlessly picked up what was laid there, and inside. Facial cream, jewelry, gloves, glasses. Items Rhys was sure Tim wouldn’t miss. He wasn’t using them anyway. He safely stowed away all the crap into his large jacket pockets and walked over some crap to look at a few pictures.

He would have taken one of the pictures, but he hears Tim’s voice. “Rhys?”

Rhys jumped, but recovered quickly. “Tim. Hey. You know your room is… absolutely filthy. What, didn’t bother to clean ‘cause we’d end up messing it up again?” He winked as Tim started turning red from his head to his neck.

“I- No. This is Jack’s room.” He leaned into the room and grabbed Rhys’s arm, pulling him out of it. Rhys, of course, feigned ignorance and apologized profusely. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Just-” He shut the door when they were both out and guided Rhys into Tim’s room across the hall. “Sorry. You didn’t touch anything?”

“Of course not.” Rhys lied. He hung his coat on the hook on the wall and looked around the room. The walls  and most of the furniture was an exact mirror of the room they were just in. Tim’s room was much tidier. A lot more books stacked neatly in the corners. Posters of bands, movies, and motivational kittens on the walls.

“Cute.” Rhys murmured, unsure if it’s really all  _ that _  cute. He had to think about whether or not it was endearing or not. Fortunately, Tim took it sincerely. Why wouldn’t he? Rhys had been (seemingly) sincere so far. Instead of being concerned with Rhys’s flat tone, Tim put on a CD. Some sort of indie crap that Rhys sometimes listened to on Spotify. Not really his thing. Not really sexy, either, if that was what Tim was going for.

He placed his hands on Rhys’s shoulders and started rubbing in slow circles, who relaxed and leaned into his grip. “Nice pad, Lawrence. You take every cute boy you meet back to your place after the first couple of dates?”

Tim chuckled, pressing his lips into Rhys’s temple. “No. Believe it or not, you’re the first person, besides me, to step inside this house for months.” His arms wrapped around Rhys’s waist and he pulled him in, swaying to the music. Slow and steady, before turning Rhys around and pressing another kiss to his other temple.

“You’ve been here all by your lonesome, then?” He said it teasingly, but something in him told Rhys that maybe the smile on Tim’s face was filled with something other than playfulness. Because yeah, of course he’s been alone. Has he been lonely?

“Yeah, I guess.” He said as he held his hand flat on Rhys’s tailbone. “I mean, it’s alright. You’ve been around, and that’s been… I know I keep saying it, but it’s been amazing. You’re amazing.”

Rhys gave a toothy grin and acted bashful. Yeah, he know full well he was full of shit. But Tim didn’t. He could see it in those eyes of his. Tim thought Rhys hung the stars just for him. He looked at him as if he was the only one who ever mattered. It was nice. Rhys was loving it. And he knew Tim was also loving the newfound attention.

“ _ You’re _  amazing, Tim.” Does it feel good to have someone finally pay attention to you, Timothy? Does it feel good to not have a brother to outshine you all the time? How did he die?  _ Do you even miss him? _  “I’ve never met anyone like you. I wish I could have met you sooner.”

“No you don’t.” Tim said softly as spun them around. “I was a real doofus when we were in high school.” He held Rhys tighter. “I mean, I was a doofus when we met. But it was even worse before. You know.”

Rhys quirked an eyebrow. “Before what.”

Tim pursed his lips and stopped whatever slow dance he was trying to emulate. “Can I… tell you something?”

Rhys’s heart beat so hard, he felt it in his throat. “Yes. Yeah, of course. What is it?”

Tim sat them both on his bed and took Rhys’s hands. He looked anxious. “I. I miss Jack. So much. With all my heart. He was my brother, but-” He nervously licked his lips as he tried to find the words. Rhys was on the edge of his fucking seat. “The way I was when he was around. Listen, I don’t know what you know about him. He may have been really cool in school and on campus but. Jack was mean. He was an asshole, and when he was around I was just. I was…”

“You were a loner-”

“I was a bitch.” Timothy laughed bitterly, like he told the least funniest joke. “I was this little coward who couldn’t. Do anything. I couldn’t say anything. It felt like I was- No. I didn’t just feel like I was? Because I  _ was _ . In his shadow. And anytime anyone wanted something out of me? Well, they didn’t actually want me. They wanted Jack. Even now? All of his old friends. They only talk to me because they want the good parts of him that they miss. The funny part. The confident part. The ambitious part.”

“But not you.” He said, looking at Rhys. “You’ve been here just for me. Just for me. And that’s more than I could ever ask for.”

Rhys should’ve confessed. Rhys should’ve stopped talking to Timothy. Rhys should’ve let him find someone better. Someone nicer. Someone who wasn’t in love with his dead brother. Rhys should’ve been guilty.

But he didn’t.

“Tim, I-”

“Rhys.” He said, gripping Rhys tighter. “I’ve always felt like I’ve just been some off brand version of him. I’ve spent my life trying to live up to what everyone expects of me because of him that, Rhys, I don’t even really know who I would be without him. I-I don’t know how you can stand me, Rhys. I’m boring, I have no personality. I’m smart, but I’m not ambitious. I try, but it’s not enough. Not like him.”

“But you’re not like that. You’re not like anyone. You don’t ask any of that from me. You don’t expect me to be him. And I want to try to be  _ me _ . For you.”

* * *

Rhys dropped his jacket on the bed and collapsed in a chair. Tim dropped him off after a movie and a half hour in heaven. Honestly, he felt like he should have gone home earlier. He didn’t expect how emotionally exhausting finding out what happened to Jack would be. Well,  _ trying  _ to find out about Jack. Even after all that, Rhys still didn’t know how he died. Tim was cagier than Rhys had prepared for.

He wasn’t about to give up, though. He’d come so far. And when he was done, he could drop Timothy once and for all. For Tim’s sake.

Rhys got up from his chair and dumped the contents out of his jacket pockets. Buttermilk face cream. A pair of sturdy winter gloves. A pair of sunglasses Jack has worn since high school. A pair of reading classes that Rhys had never seen on Jack. And jewelry. Rings with varied levels of tackiness. Bracelets, necklaces. All costume jewelry, really. They look like he’d bought them ten for five at an antique store. Rhys saw pieces that Jack actually wore regularly. Especially the snakehead necklace (maybe the most tasteful from the selection) he was never seen without. Rhys took it from the pile and unclasped it as he headed to the mirror. He preened at his reflection after he put it on and modeled playfully for himself. Maybe in another life, Jack would have given him jewelry. Maybe he would have taken him on dates and showed him off. They would have gone out to a nice dinner and drank too much wine and laughed loudly from their buzz. And then they’d come home, and Jack would rip Rhys’s layers off of him and would be proud to see Rhys wearing the pretty gifts he bought for him, and he would say-

“Hey idiot, you look like a  _ fucking moron _ !”

Rhys jumped out of his skin and screamed bloody mary. He whipped around only to see…

Jack himself, in the flesh.

The flesh?

His knees went weak, and he collapsed on the floor. And he blacked out.

**Author's Note:**

> i have this whole fic outlined from beginning to end!!!! hopefully i'll finish this, haha. i've had this in the works since halloween. it's definitely a halloweeny fic. :)  
> title (and tone) inspired by John Dies at the End by David Wong  
> hope you enjoy!


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